


everybody dances with the grim reaper

by Mars_and_Moon



Category: Leverage
Genre: Beating, Blood and Injury, Eliot Spencer Whump, Gen, Gross Sexual Tension, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Internalized Victim Blaming, M/M, What Have I Done, all around not nice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:07:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24476968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mars_and_Moon/pseuds/Mars_and_Moon
Summary: "Chapman," Damien said, doing his best to impersonate kindness. "Please escort our guests to the room upstairs. Return them in fifteen minutes. Everybody else, get out."Damien threw Eliot a smile, and he realized exactly why everyone was leaving the room.ORau where the plan was a little less concrete, Eliot never had the chance to explain that he worked for Moreau, and now has to pay the consequences of leaving
Relationships: Damien Moreau/Eliot Spencer, technically - Relationship
Comments: 9
Kudos: 88





	everybody dances with the grim reaper

**Author's Note:**

> This is all around icky. Damien Moreau is icky. I don't know why I wrote this. 
> 
> tw: references to past rape/non-con, blood, injury, what i can only call internalized victim blaming, predatory behavior, and fear
> 
> also, Note: I do not ship Eliot/Moreau beyond a highly abusive and toxic relationship

It's not like it's surprising to see that Chapman was given the job, nor was it surprising to see that he was still seeped in jealousy. Some things, truly, never change. If this was under a different set of circumstances, Eliot would have said this straight to the other man's face. 

But it wasn't under different circumstances. At least he'd finally gotten an answer as to whether or not his name would still open doors, or if it would get him shot. Standing in an empty bar next to his team--next to his family, all of whom keep throwing him confused looks, while waiting for the devil himself to appear made the information less fun. 

He told Nate that it was a bad idea, that their cover would be blown within twenty minutes, that sending everyone in was damning the whole con. Can't con a conman, or something like that. 

Chapman must have found enough common sense under his terrible dye job to not have any guns pointed at Eliot, but instead at everyone else. Fucking bastard knew what he was doing, but he only knew what he was doing because Eliot taught him. Which explains the smug look on his face, the one that Eliot really wants to beat off of him. 

"Enough with the guns." A voice broke through the silence. God, why did he always how to be this dramatic. "Is this anyway to greet an old _friend_?" 

If he was alone in this situation, he'd walk up and bitch-slap the easy grin off of Damien Moreau's face. Or maybe take the glass that Damien was holding and smash it across his face. Really, if he was alone in this situation it would be much better for all parties involved. 

_Fucking_ Nate, and his _fucking_ alcohol induced ideas. 

Several gunmen had changed their stance when Damien had walked into the bar, which would be unnoticeable for anyone but Eliot, seeing as he created the training exercises they had all been through. Hell, he saw three familiar faces who had been there when it was created. The new stance was saying there would be less of a chance of shooting. Chapman seemed very disappointed when everybody had followed through and stopped pointing their guns. 

"Chapman," Damien said, doing his best to impersonate kindness. "Please escort our guests to the room upstairs. Return them in fifteen minutes. Everybody else, get out."

Nate remained silent, while Hardison started to yell about most definitely not leaving. Damien threw Eliot a smile, and he realized exactly why everyone was leaving the room. He should have seen this part coming, but he had been so focused on how to get the rest of the team out of the situation to remember. 

He did it before, when he tried to run for the first time. Forgot about the tracker in his neck, by the time he had remembered he already had three broken ribs and a missing tooth. The second time, he didn't even make it out of the city, and was captured with blood caked on the left side of his neck; he ended up with a crushed hand and several scars on his thighs. The third time there was less blood, and he was on a plane by the time Damien had noticed. 

Eliot knew what was coming, and was grateful that a few glares from Chapman and a nod from himself had convinced them to leave, Hardison was still complaining and Sophie was agreeing with him. 

The door closed, and before Eliot even had a thought to react he was being backhanded across the face. With a beer bottle. He stumbled, but thankfully didn't fall to the floor. Eliot had no idea where the bottle had come from, but he has definitely been hit with worse. 

"You know, Spencer, I was going to do this in front of your little friends." Damien stepped closer to him, close enough Eliot felt his breath on the shell of his ear. Damien then stabbed him in his thigh, and when he pulled out the cheap steak knife he said, "But then I decided against it. Because I'm the only one who gets to see you like this."

He presses a kiss to Eliot's cheek, and Eliot resists the urge to gag. If he's been counting correctly, it's already been three minutes and nineteen seconds, only twelve minutes and forty one seconds to go. 

He feels Damien put his hand on his chest, then starts internally freaking out when he begins to undo the buttons on his shirt. He shows no signs of relief when Damien only undoes the first four, but he certainly feels it. It quickly fades however when his undershirt gets pulled down enough to reveal a scar. A perfect _'M'_ a little further down than his collar bone.

"Aw, you kept it." 

Eliot still doesn't react, even when the steak knife makes a return pressed against his cheek. He keeps his breathing to a minimum, keeps emotion off his face. He's done this before, and the small part of him yelling to fight back--and the smaller part of him yelling to apologize--don't win even when Damien slips his free hand around Eliot's neck. Even when the pressure increases enough that his lungs start burning. 

Ten minutes, nineteen seconds to go. 

"You could take me." He doesn't look Damien in the eyes when the other man finally drops his hand from around his neck. "In a fight, I mean. You could easily kill me, and yet here you are." 

Nine minutes, forty one seconds. If there was any more time this would escalate, and Eliot thanks God that Damien only asked for fifteen minutes. He takes a moment to wonder if that was the whole point, before shutting down that train of thought. The knife is dropped, it lands on the floor with a clattering sound. 

Damien apparently stops restraining himself and presses his lips against Eliot's. He almost doesn't register the fact that they're kissing until a hand slips into his hair. Eliot tells himself it's a gut reaction to kiss back, which it is, but he knows that nobody else would see it that way. He kisses back, and he feels the smile against his lips. The hand in his hair tightens into painful territory, and the only thing that keeps him from shoving Damien away and finding the nearest bottle of bleach is the fact that his team doesn't have the same immunity as Eliot and Chapman would be overly happy to kill them. 

Damien pulls back, and Eliot can't stop the breath of relief. There's no comment on that, thank the lord. But the way Damien drags his eyes up and down his body is probably worse. He then proceeds to punch Eliot in the gut, which unfortunately puts him on his knees. 

"I like the hair," Damien says, tugging on it to emphasize his point. "The white hat, not so much." 

Six minutes, two seconds. 

"I missed you," he whispers, getting on his knees and looking him in the eyes. His free hand cups his left cheek, his thumb falls on his bottom lip. It takes more strength then Eliot cares to admit to not bite it off. 

They stay like that, before Damien slips his thumb fully into his mouth. "Especially your mouth." 

Five minutes, seventeen seconds. 

Not enough time, because Damien has to have some limits. He doesn't like people watching, not in moments like this. If Eliot were a lesser man, maybe it wouldn't be a problem. But if Eliot were a lesser man, he wouldn't be in this situation. 

Eliot counts the seconds with each breath he takes; all he smells is Damien's cologne and the beer from the bottle that had been smashed into his face. He forces himself to look him in the eyes, and instantly regrets it. Damien's pupils are blown, his gaze predatory and lustful. The two of them probably make an interesting pair, Eliot can feel the bruises forming and his leg is still bleeding, his shirt half undone, a hand still in his hair, a thumb in his mouth.

The worst part is the familiarity Eliot feels, the two have been in the exact same situation before. Granted, at this point a thumb wasn't what was in Eliot's mouth. 

There's two minutes, twenty seven seconds left when Damien removes both hands from his body, he stands up and hits Eliot once more before yanking him to his feet. Eliot falls into a waiting position, hands clasped behind his back. Damien pours himself a drink, before grabbing a napkin and pulling out a pen. Eliot doesn't need to look to know what it'll say. 

The silence in the room is deafening, Eliot just wants to know that his friends are safe and the bastard is dragging it out. Damien walks over and slips the napkin into his back pocket, and then pulls him in for another kiss. 

This time, Eliot pushes him off. Damien smirks, and leans in. "Oh, Spencer. We both know that you don't really want to fight back." 

The door opens, and there is space between them now. Everybody slowly re-enters the room, a few gunmen look surprised to see Eliot standing and breathing. He hears Sophie's sigh of relief, he feels Nate anger, he sees Parker and Hardison's posture relax. Chapman glares at him, but he catches sight of his unbuttoned shirt and the mark that is forming around his neck and gives him a smile. 

Nobody says anything, least of all Eliot. He sips his drink, with a smug look on his face, letting his eyes wander to Eliot. "I trust you understand the conditions to you and your team's release?" 

Eliot takes amusement in seeing Chapman's eyes widen. But all he does is tightened his lips and give a vague nod, it seems to be enough. 

"Excellent. I also trust you know the way to the door." 

Eliot doesn't dignify that with a response. Instead, he turns and immediately walks over to his team to usher them out as quickly as possible. Nate is throwing him a look, the one that means they will be talking about this as soon as possible. Eliot can live with that, he just needs to get them out and make sure they're safe before anything. He doesn't trust Damien not to send a trail. 

The five finally reach the outside. Hardison clambers into Lucille III, Parker not far behind him. Nate takes the driver's seat, and Sophie gives Eliot a concerned look before sitting in the passenger seat.

Once he's alone, Eliot promptly throws up on the sidewalk. Tries to ignore the _'M'_ branded on his chest and how it feels like it's burning him, tries to ignore the blood running down his face, tries to ignore the actively bleeding cut on his thigh that just barely missed a major artery. Eliot steadies himself against the van, and forcefully takes a few deep breaths before hopping in the back with Hardison and Parker. 

His family is safe, he reminds himself, and right now that's all that matters. He did his job, he protected them, and tomorrow when he goes to whatever location and gets told who he'll be killing, that is still what he'll be doing. That's his job, that's his purpose. 

His family is safe, he kept them safe. Everything will be okay. Everything has to be okay. 

**Author's Note:**

> i told myself that i wouldn't hurt eliot because he already has been hurt enough, but then i wrote this and honestly i'm not that sorry. 
> 
> feel free to comment your rage about how eliot spencer deserves better


End file.
